A Favor Between Friends
by Roar-ra
Summary: Aka, that one time when Natasha asked Clint to have sex with her, and it made Clint so mad he nearly threw Steve Rogers off a building.
1. The Favor

**A favor Between Friends**

* * *

_Aka, that one time when Natasha asked Clint to have sex with her, and it made Clint so mad he nearly threw Steve Rogers off a building._

* * *

She is ice. I am stone. We are the cut from the same cloth. Ruthless assassins, incapable of normal relationships and we are both just fine with that, thankyouverymuch.

Our partnership is perfect, legendary. We trust each other and no one else.

Then Captain _fucking_ America appears and screws it all up.

She's looking at me as though it's the simplest favor in the world.

She wants me to have sex with her…so she can attempt relationship with Steve _fucking _Rogers!?

I may need to back up a little here…

* * *

Sitting on the ledge, he looks down at the alley below. His oily, dark target moves quickly around the dumpster, trying to avoid detection. _Fat chance, buddy. __You're __mine now._ He removes the dart and blowgun from the case with a smile. The world narrows down to this: just a man, the wind, and a clear line of sight. He exhales sharply. Bull's-eye.

"Do I even want to know why you're shooting rats with a blowgun?"

"Probably not, Tash."

She approaches noiselessly, spins a dart between her fingers, and sniffs. "Doesn't smell like poison… Is that a microchip on the end?"

"Yup, Tony is interested in tracking the migration patterns of local vermin. He was making noises about using the rats as a detection system or something. God knows what he put in those chips… He and Bruce started to explain it, but then it devolved into SCIENCE! and I kinda zoned out. This is fun. You should try it."

"Just what we need – an army of 'Iron Rats' protecting Avenger Tower." She nearly cracks a smile.

Clint reloads the dart gun and scans the alley for his next target. "How did project 'Last Dance' go?", deliberately keeping his tone neutral. In his head, he calls it project 'Let Cap take your partner dancing one time so he'll get it out of his stupid super-system and stop making idiotic moony eyes at her.'

"Not good."

Clint smiles, telling himself it's just because he spotted another rat. A quick exhalation, and it's tagged. "How bruised are your toes?"

"Mission aborted. Bad intel. Goals and parameters were based on incorrect assumptions." She grimaces. "I don't want to talk about it."

* * *

**Earlier:**

"No."

Natasha frowns, looking down at the dress. White full skirt to mid-calf, off the shoulder fitted bodice, patterned with bright red cherries. Her hair pin-curled to perfection. She's a classic pinup girl. "What's the problem? I can go slightly more or less fancy-"

"I don't think you understood my intention, Natasha. This…" He gestures to the entire ensemble. "This is you doing your best to look like Peggy and give me a lost dance."

"Yes." She looks at him as though he's dim. "You asked me to go dancing with you, and I wanted to give you as close to the dance you missed as possible." Her voice suddenly sharpens into a perfect British accent. "I can even make you close your eyes and think it's her, if you'd like."

Steve winces and puts his face in his hands. "That's what you thought I wanted!? Aaarg!" His shoulders slump. "You thought I wanted you to pretend you're someone else?"

Natasha sighs in frustration. This is not going as she had hoped. She can be anyone for him. Why won't he enjoy it like every other…. mark… Damn, sometimes he's really much sharper than Tony gives him credit for.

"I don't want you to be someone else." He grabs her shoulders. "I don't want you to give me something I've lost. I want to try something NEW… With YOU." His cheeks flush with a combination of anger, arousal and embarrassment and his fingers tremble slightly. "I want YOU." He leans down and presses his mouth to hers, gently, sweetly, entreating her to understand…

She freezes for a moment. The crush of his lips against hers, strong hands gently pulling her against him; it's incredibly… real… honest… imploring… She has never had someone lay themselves so bare to her-to the Black Widow, sure, but not to HER. It's different, it's… nice. Experimentally, she lets her hands roam up his arms to encircle his neck. He groans in pleasure at her response and she parts her lips, allowing the kiss to deepen.

She automatically reaches into her library of personas, as she always does during intimate situations. Who is she for this encounter? Who would fit with him the best…? Wait, he doesn't want her to be someone else… But…she NEEDS a character. She can't do this as herself. Panic. Sheer and utter panic. She freezes.

It's a shocking realization. She literally cannot do something as simple as kissing a man without a cover. Natasha Romanov has never seduced a man when it wasn't for a mission. The realization is horrifying. It's not that she doesn't want to keep kissing Steve Rogers; it's that she can't do it without putting someone else on. She can't do this. She just CAN'T.

Steve pulls back at her sudden stillness, eyes shining with adoration and concern. He's afraid he's pushed too fast. Nervous he's done something wrong.

"It's okay, Steve." She swallows hard. "Please, put me down."

He complies immediately.

Her brow furrows, Natasha Romanov does not take failure well. And she has definitely failed here. She doesn't like that she is unable to do something, especially something she _wants _to do. She should be better, she should be less broken…

She is suddenly angry. Angry with herself, angry with Steve, angry with a 90-year old stranger on the other side of the planet. Too many emotions. She hates emotions. Emotions are weakness, weaknesses are flaws. She must not be flawed, she must be perfect. She needs more control.

She takes a step back, literally and figuratively. "I'm sorry, Cap. This was a mistake."

"I can be anyone for you… Peggy, a movie star, a saint, a sinner; but not me." She strips off the gloves and removes her heels. "We can shoot together, spar, or plan the next mission." She takes down the pin curls and she lets her hair fall naturally. "That's who I am, Steve. I AM the job. That's ALL I am." She looks up at him sadly. "I'm sorry." She hates that she cant' give him what he wants. She walks out the door. "We're still team mates and friends, Steve. But you need to find another girl."

* * *

"So what happened?"

"Did you catch the part where I said I'd rather not talk about it?"

He gives her his best 'sure, I'm infuriating, but you like me anyway' grin.

"Rest assured, Steve now knows he will need to find another dance partner." She sees a rat on a ledge a few yards away and flicks the dart in her hand, tagging it on the hindquarters.

A tightness that he didn't even realize was there suddenly loosens in his chest. "Nice shot."

They sit together for several minutes, silent, watching Clint continue sniping until the darts are gone.

She clears her throat as he packs the dart gun away. "I need a favor."

"Who do you need taken out? Or did you finally kill Tony for trying to grab your ass again? You need me to help you dispose of the body? I wish you'd waited until he finished the new arrows he's been working on..."

He feels her hesitation and turns, suddenly serious. She rarely hesitates to ask anything of him. It must be big. He mentally calculates the nearest body drop points and stashes of untraceable weapons. It may be a long night.

She starts to turn away. "You know what? I'm thinking about it…and never mind, it's fine."

He grabs her arm as she tries to brush past him to the door. The grip is gentle, but iron. "Tasha." He lifts her chin to make her look in his eyes. "Tell me what you need."

She doesn't answer him.

"How can I help?"

"Let it go." The tone tells him firmly to drop it.

He growls in frustration. "Dammit, Tasha. Talk to me. I'm your partner. Don't be an idiot and try to do this on your own."

Natasha chuckles bitterly. "Well, for starters, this one's a little hard to take on alone."

"Ask me."

"No."

"ASK!"

Exasperated, she nearly screams at him, "I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU."

The next dart case falls from his hand, the sound of it hitting the rooftop suddenly deafening in the silence.

He finally manages to pull pull his jaw shut with an audible click and swallows. "Sorry? I must have misheard that."

She sighs in frustration. "I realized something today… I've never just been… me… during sex."

He knows this, of course, but hearing it makes him scowl. Her body was a weapon of the state for so long… she's never sought out male company when it wasn't part of an act needed for a mission. He's always respected that choice and never questioned it or pushed her boundaries. What troubles him is WHY she wants this. "Why? Why now?"

She clenches her teeth. She was kind of hoping he'd just sling her over his shoulder and take her on the nearest flat surface... The thought of him doing exactly that are causing all sorts of reactions she'd rather not address right now, especially when he looks like he's in shell shock. Tamping down the disappointment, she tries to explain. "I feel like some part of me is missing. It didn't matter to me for a long time. We were… We ARE perfect together. But…" She plows ahead, ignoring his wince at the words. "We're part of a bigger team now. We both need to work on being just a little more human, and today I realized that I might… someday… want to be intimate with someone because _I_ want to be."

She takes his hands in hers and looks up at him, pleading for understanding. "Don't you ever wonder if there might be something else besides just…the next mission, the next mark, the next hit?"

No, he does not. He has all he needs. He has his bow, his partner, and a good line of sight. All bases covered. They are all each other needs, until today. Until she went to Steve Rogers for a dance and came back wishing she were able to have sex for fun.

He feels like he's been punched in the gut. Their perfect partnership… it's crumbling before his eyes. She wants to be more human… with him, but not FOR him.

Still, he says nothing. His silence a tangible weight until it's crushing her.

"Never mind," she shakes her head, desperate to break the stalemate. "I shouldn't have…"

"Do you know what you're asking me?" The words are torn from his throat, harsh and angry. Did she really just expect him to be the warm up act for Steve _fucking_ Rogers? "You want me to be your 'therapy fuck'?"

The coldness of his voice surprises her. She should have known he'd be like this. She's acting outside their normal parameters. He hates it when she does that. She looks down at the ground. "I'm asking my friend for help." The words are barely above a whisper, but they cut him like a blade.

How can she ask him to do this? How can she possibly ask him to be her gateway to another man? Doesn't she realize he–No, of course she doesn't. He's stone, she's ice, and that's the way they are. Then Captain fucking Sunshine appeared. She want's to be more, for CAP! That's what angers him more than anything. Steve Rogers made her want to be someone who could be in a relationship.

His eyes are begging, pleading with her. "Tasha, are you sure you want to do this?"

Natasha sighs, trying to make it not sound as monumental as it had seemed when she had blurted it out originally. "It's not that big of a deal, birdbrain…" She attempts to back out gracefully. "I can wait, deal with it later if change your mind…or not at all, if you want to. We can redact this entire conversation. It never happened."

It's a staggering realization for him.

Natasha will give up exploring her own sensuality entirely if he says no. He somehow expected her to use the 'I'll just find someone else' card, but no. She's going to remain celibate and let their partnership continue just the way it was before if he wants it that way.

And suddenly it's not enough for him anymore either. He is going to willingly, happily screw up their flawless, seamless, platonic relationship because _he_ wants more. He wants all of her… And if that means he has to convince her she doesn't need Captain _fucking _America to feel human, well, he's willing to spend the next few years in bed with her making sure that happens.

He moves forward to take her in his arms and find the nearest flat surface. Show her how much he wants her and then–

And then Steve _fucking_ Rogers opens the rooftop door and Clint has an exceptionally vivid vision of himself throwing his team leader off the building.

"Sorry to interrupt." He doesn't look terribly sorry. "Team briefing, downstairs, now. Fury's got something for us." Clint balls his hands at his sides. Perfect timing.

Natasha smiles and gives a small shrug, ignoring the chaotic swirl of emotions between the three of them. "Okay, Cap. Sounds good." She brushes past Clint and whispers an absolution. "I apologize for asking, Clint. Conversation erased." Her cheeks color with shame for a moment. Then she allows the Widow to take over; pure professional. Emotions in check, she squares her shoulders and follows the captain.

Clint lowers his head and growls as he follows them. It takes an act of will not to slam his fist into the door. Something, anything to relieve the frustration building inside his chest . Of all the massive fuckups, this has got to be a personal best. She thinks he doesn't want her. She couldn't be more wrong.

Fortunately, he's a sniper, a patient man. He will make it his singular goal to get Natasha Romanov into his bed and not let her out until he's fucked every memory of Steve Rogers from her brain.

Finis.

For now. Yes, I'm evil… But I love and respond to all reviews ;)

Thanks a million to DJ Liopleurodon and OddDoll for their awesome feedback and beta work.


	2. The Answer

**The Answer**

* * *

_AKA – that one time when Clint needed to convince Natasha to let him do her a favor._

* * *

They move towards the conference table; a hologram of Directory Fury waits, arms crossed, silently glowering as the agents assemble.

Hawkeye brushes past Natasha as he takes a seat next to her. She quells a shiver as he growls a single word, softly, determinedly in her ear. "Yes."

She will not meet his eyes, she swallows back a moan at the feel of his breath on her neck. She leans away imperceptibly. 'No,' she mouths silently as the Director begins to speak.

His scowl deepens. Everyone else to assumes it's a reaction to the reports of cyborgs attacking the Bronx.

* * *

They move out and suit up. She is heading for the weapons locker, when she sees him stride purposefully toward her, holding her widow's bites. If anyone else were touching her weapons, they'd be on the floor and in agony, but this is one of the many things they only trust each other with.

As he places the heavy bracelets in her hands, he skims a calloused thumb across her wrist to the palm. She inhales sharply at the caress. A pleased half growl half purr emerges from his throat as he wraps the deadly cuff around her wrist, the click of metal seems to be as aloud a gunshot in the otherwise empty room. The air around them thickens with tension, crackling with a new heat. She looks up at him, his dark blue-grey eyes are blown black with desire, her knees nearly buckle.

He can sense her resolve weakening as he twines the fingers of her other hand with his. They watch their entwined fingers as he fastens the second cuff. Emboldened, he turns her hand and raises the upturned palm to his lips, breathing the one word that suddenly means everything: "Yes."

She swallows, barely managing breathy whisper. "No." She turns and walks quickly down the hall. His gaze on her retreating form is absolutely predatory.

* * *

The blast throws the Hulk through a lingerie warehouse in the garment district. He lands on the other side, shaking his head he barrels back into the fray.

Hawkeye draws back and releases. The arrow lops off a single strand of red hair then buries itself into the brain of the cyborg commander pointing a gun at the Black Widow's heart.

The leaderless cyborgs continue to fight, disorganized and Hulk has fun using a larger one as a baseball bat as he takes out the others. The fact that he's now covered in ducky-print lingerie does not seem to slow him down.

She runs toward her partner, sliding across a car and settling at his side. Back-to-back, they work on eliminating the rest of the pathetic remnants of the once proud evil cyborg army.

"Yes." It's a victory cry, but also a demand only she understands.

She can't help but laugh. Only he can make her laugh at a time like this. "Not now, bird brain!"

His smile widens. It's progress… that wasn't a 'no'.

* * *

After:

It's a post mission ritual now. The five of them arrive, dusty, tattered, still in uniform to whatever nearest restaurant owner will have them. And, to date, no one has turned them away.

This time, it's 'The Rusty Nail'–perhaps the last true dive bar in New York–with country music on the jukebox and peanut shells on the floor.

Tony tries to beat a hasty retreat. The owner puts a scotch in front of him and declares Iron Man to be the most-badass of the superhero team. Tony changes his mind about the establishment immediately.

They eat greasy burgers and beers, while listening to the wait staff complain about 'Damn foreigner robots.' As if an army of American-made evil robots would somehow have had the decency not to break the windows of a country western bar. Bruce and Natasha have to talk Cap down when he starts to give the entire bar a speech about the evils of prejudice. Thor asks Clint to explain this term: 'jingoism'.

Cap glowers soberly into his beer; unhappy he wasn't able to educate the bar patrons to be better citizens of the word_. _More beer is ordered, and a bottle of vodka appears as well. Clint suspects this is from the bartender who's favorite Avenger is obviously _not_ Iron Man. Natasha raises a glass to the old cowboy behind the bar, winks at him and downs the shot smoothly. It's the new highlight of an old man's life.

A painfully twangy country tune comes on and Tony declares he need shots immediately if he's going to survive such an auditory assault. Clint smiles, lowers his beer and tugs on Natasha's hand. He guides her onto the small dance floor. He knows she follow him onto the dance floor; she'd follow him to hell.

She'll do anything for him. He'll do anything for her. Now they both want to do one thing for each other.

Steve frowns. Tony smirks. Bruce smiles. Thor demands more ale.

The assassins glide smoothly amongst the glass, cigarette butts, and sawdust; deliberately ignoring everyone else. He brushes a curl behind her ear as she leans against his chest. She hears her his heartbeat; solid, rhythmic and real. It's the best soundtrack she knows.

He twirls her as the song comes to an end, dipping her and gazing down in silent entreaty. She stares back, lips parted and struggles to find the words that will prevent them from crossing this line they've both created for so many reasons, so many years ago. There are none. They both want this.

His voice is low, afraid the break the spell, yet rough with need. "Yes?"

She licks her lips and sees the pulse in his neck quicken in response. "Yes."

He lifts her to her feet and they walk back to the table in silence. It is decided.

She can't help but smile when he growls impatiently in her ear as they sit. "When?"

Finis.

Thanks again to DJ Liopleurodon and OddDoll the uber-betas. Everything you like, blame them for. The suck is all me for either ignoring them, or adding some random line with a typo after they already beta'ed the chapter.

I love torturing my favorite characters, but don't worry dear readers, there will be smut, feels, angst, smut and more feels to come soon.

Feedback is adored and keeps my fingers tapping - I also respond to everyone, flames or no, cause I'm a feedback whore like that :)

Roar


	3. Mission Paramaters

Quick Authors Note - so sorry for the delay in updating, was evacuated due to wildfires in CO and just now getting back on track, I promise more fic and, less fire evacuations in the future. Thanks for being patient with me :) Now on to our story.

**Mission Paramaters**

* * *

_AKA - That one time when Natasha arrived over-prepared._

* * *

Is this a date? No, this is just sex. What do you wear for just sex? No, what do you wear for therapy sex? It sounds like something you need terry cloth or yoga pants for… Clint frowns, he doesn't own yoga pants. But he does appreciate them, especially on Natasha.

Watching Natasha in yoga pants is something of an unofficially recognized pastime amongst the field agents. She never complained to the higher-ups, but someone else must have… Fury's solution was elegant. The next day, the director had a slingshot delivered to Clint's door. Now, agents are kept on their toes. Now, when someone is walking down the hall with a huge welt on their forehead, agents just smile; there's a price you pay for ogling Hawkeye's partner.

He glares at the closet accusingly, as if it's to blame for the fact that he's worrying about clothing like a fifteen-year-old girl.

There's a knock at the door. Crap, she's early. He looks down at his black t-shirt and draw-string pants; guess this is what you wear for it's-just-therapy-sex.

He opens the door and he notices she's similarly dressed. Grey t-shirt and loose black pants. Good. He accidentally dressed appropriately for therapy sex.

He gestures for her to come inside and she gracefully jumps onto the couch, throwing a small black gym bag to the floor. It hits the ground with a suspiciously loud thump. He tries not to wonder about what might be in there.

She raises an elegantly sculpted eyebrow, daring him to comment.

"So…" Has he ever felt this nervous prior to sex? Not since he was sixteen, that's for sure.

She smiles. "Okay, Barton. Let's do some intel."

He laughs and feels some of the tension ebb. "Seriously, Tash? You want to approach how to have non-mission sex as a mission?"

"It's how I work. Deal with it. So let's start with basic info." The smile turns into a slight leer. "When was the last time you had sex?"

Great. First question, and he's already in trouble. He looks at the carpet suddenly fascinated by the beige surface. "Um… December 14th."

A flash of something that might be hurt crosses her features. He knows why. He makes a point of spending every December 15th with her, declaring it their 'anniversary'. That he would have spent the previous night with another woman seems to have hit a nerve. He decides not to fix the mistaken assumption. Better a few hurt feelings than admitting...

A calculating look crosses her features. "Wait a minute…"

Damn.

"We were in Greenland freezing our asses off in a remote base last December 14th, so unless you bedded eighty-year-old Dr. Stan Meedely…"

Oh ugh, worst mental image of all time.

"Or wandered outside and found a friendly Yeti…"

Okay, second worst mental image of all time.

"There's no way you could have... Hold on… December of what year?"

Shit.

Busted.

This is where he may have to face the fact that he hasn't had sex since he brought her into SHIELD, three years ago. He hadn't felt the need hook up with the trainees and rookies who previously warmed his bed, another reason most of SHIELD assumed they'd been fucking since day one. Nat filled all of the emotional cracks and crevices of his scarred psyche. As for the physical... She obviously didn't want to be pursued, and he's got his right hand and the internet.

"What about you? When was the last time you had sex."

She rolls her eyes at the obvious ploy to avoid the question, but doesn't shy from answering it. "December 1st, honeypot mission to get intel from Turkey's Director of International Finance, a recluse who never left his boat. I came aboard as his daughter's new best friend from college."

"You slept with him?"

"Yes, but that wasn't the last time I had sex."

He raises an eyebrow.

"I was in his office, the next day, when she showed up. I didn't want her wondering what I was doing there, or why his computer was on, so I, um, distracted her."

His brain short circuits for a moment. Stop it Barton. Therapy guys do NOT get hard listening to their partners talk about missions.

"It was probably as close to voluntarily having sex as I ever got. I could have easily gotten her out of the room, or just tranq'ed her and escaped with the files… But she was such a conflicted, confused young woman… She was obviously terrified of her sexual attraction to women in general, and her attraction to her new best friend, specifically… She was afraid that I'd think she was sick. So I put on someone who could introduce her to her sexuality, and let her know it wasn't wrong to feel what she was feeling and how to enjoy it. Her father was a controlling, stuck-up bigot, so I also felt it karmically appropriate to seduce his daughter on his prized pre-Ottoman war desk. It also allowed me to stay through the week without blowing my cover."

Barton tries to keep his breathing even. Best mental image ever. Aw crap, stop it. That's not being 'therapy guy'. Stop imagining your partner kissing a Greek co-ed. Stop. Stop. Stop. He tries to find something to grab in the information that 'therapy guy' would care about. "So, it was still for the mission, and you still put on another persona, correct?"

She nods.

"Here's what I'm thinking." He takes a bottle of water from the fridge, trying to focus on being 'therapy guy'. "Mission Goals: get Agents Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov out of the celibate, sexually stunted mental place they are right now."

She bites back a laugh. "Agreed."

"I haven't had sex in a while."

Her eyebrow quirks up, silently mocking him for not admitting how long. He ignores it and plows ahead.

"And even when I did before, it was just scratching an itch, no emotions, just sex." He hopes he can get her to give him more, open up more if she's doing it to help his issues, not just her own. "Mission goal for Agent Barton: make sex about more than just the act."

"Agreed." She hops onto the counter and grabs a coffee mug, filling it with the coffee she knows he brewed just for her. "Mission goal for Agent Romanov: have sex as self, no artifice, no putting on another persona, no save-the-world stuff on the line."

"Agreed."

They clink drinks in agreement.

"So." Natasha takes a long pull from the steaming hot mug. "I've got oils, straps, handcuffs, lube, whips, liquid latex, vibrators, electro–"

She looks almost offended at his sudden outburst of laughter, but he can't help it.

"Well, some of us came prepared, Barton. I'll bet you didn't even think to grab a condom."

"I'll have you know I'm well stocked, but let's back up a sec." Suddenly being therapy guy isn't something he has to work at. He brushes a lock of hair behind her ear as she stares at the ground. "I know you've done all of these things, but which of them do you LIKE doing?"

She looks up at him, brows furrowed, confused. "They all provide very different types of pleasure…"

He sighs. "I'm not talking about pleasure. I'm talking about preference. Do you even know what you might WANT to do?"

She can't meet his eyes, frantically looking around. He can see her start to panic.

"Hey, it's okay." He takes her hand and they both focus on that connection. "Let's start at the VERY beginning. We can work our way up to whips and latex later. For right now, let's just work on the basics."

She nods, and he feels the despair radiating off his partner. She feels like she's failing at this before it's even begun.

He cups her cheek. Giving into a selfish impulse, he caresses the silk of her hair with his other hand as he lifts her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Let's just start at the beginning. A kiss."

He tries to keep his breathing measured as he lowers his lips to hers.

A soft, chaste touch of the lips, barest brush of flesh. He can do this, he can be therapy guy. He can keep it slow and –

And she parts her lips slightly, gasping in pleasure, she presses her half open lips to his again, entreating for more.

Therapy guy goes out the window.

He deepens the kiss without thinking, sliding his tongue across her bottom lip before crushing her against him. They crash together, tongues dueling for dominance, rough demanding kisses, neither of them wanting to let up long enough to take the next breath. Her hands claw desperately at his shoulders, pulling him closer, practically climbing him. He grabs her ass and helps, lifting her and slamming her against him. He begins to see spots, though he's not sure if it's from lack of breathing or her breasts crushed against his chest… He distantly wonders if there could be a better death than asphyxiation from kissing Natasha Romanov. If so, he certainly can't think of it right now.

Eventually, oxygen depravation forces them apart and he pulls back slightly. "Are you all right?"

He can see the fluttering pulse in her neck, matching the hammering in his own chest. She's breathing heavily. "Yes."

"Still you?"

She looks almost puzzled as she works to gather her thoughts. "Yes… I didn't even think about it. Perhaps it's because I've never had to put on someone else for you even in the earliest days… Because you never tried to… It's easier for me."

_She_'_s okay doing this because she thinks you_'_re safe. _He tries to ignore the bitterness of the thoughts. _Focus on the positive _'_ therapy guy_'_. She_'_s never been anyone else for you. That_'_s something no one else on this stupid planet can say about Natasha Romanov._

Her eyes narrow as if she senses his turmoil. "What about you? Did you feel any emotional withdrawal?"

How could she possibly ask him that? Did she not feel him putting everything he had into that kiss? Pushing down the disappointment, he strengthens his resolve. He'll get through to her, it'll just take some more 'convincing'. He will categorize every sigh, gasp, and moan. Then spend the next few years making her gasp and scream his name until there's no space in her brain for a single thought of Captain fucking America.

He forces a smirk and puts a leer in his voice. "I think I could try again and see if we can get more of a connection."

A brief flicker of emotion passes across her face, but before he can identify it she's pulling him to her again.

…

The end - no not really, but for a little while.

Authors notes:

Sorry dear readers, I REALLY wanted to put these two in bed together, but they just wanted to talk, talk, talk, so we'll have to wait till the next chapter for some hard core action. Poor kids, they just have so many feels I need to stomp on.

As always, a thousand kudos to DJ Liopleurodon for inspiration and countless chats bouncing ideas and helping me find the right tone... and OddDoll for the most meticulous grammar beta the world has ever known, they (and everyone else who writes reviews/kudos etc,) keep me inspired to write more and more for this pairing. Guests, I couldn't pm you back, but thank you SO much for taking the time to leave feedback.


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